


Fingertips

by Arielphf



Series: Frodo's Harem [11]
Category: Lord of the Rings - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Frodo's Harem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-26
Updated: 2011-08-26
Packaged: 2017-10-23 02:06:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arielphf/pseuds/Arielphf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh, what an errant fingertip can inspire a willing lass to do...</p>
<p>This story was written for the Frodo's Harem AU for the Frodo's Harem thread at Imladris (CouncilofElrond.com - RIP).  Many of these stories were later housed at www.frodosharem.org (also sadly RIP).</p>
<p>Most of the original stories of the Frodo's Harem were written in second person - an odd POV that is most noted these days for being used in trashy RP novels.  At the time I wrote this, I'd never even heard of these trashy RP novels and so had no qualms about writing in the style of all the other harem vignettes I had read.  I've since changed the POV of most of my harem stories, but this one is one of my originals - an oldie but goodie - and I didn't think it would work quite as well in any other format.  I hope you like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fingertips

**Author's Note:**

> My original note when I posted this piece in the harem archive many years ago went as follows -
> 
> "OK… now … I only wrote this far the other night and KNEW that this would never pass the PG test so I edited some things out and cut it shorter… I could continue with this, but, as always, I am wandering where no haremite has gone before… If there is interest I will continue (heck, I’ll probably continue anyway, but whatever), but if I am stepping WAY to far over the line of taste, let me know."
> 
> I posted that at the end of part one, so you are given fair warning that this is an explicit fic, though I don't believe it is written in a crass or vulgar way. If that kind of fic doesn't interest you, please feel free to pass this one by.

Fingertips…

The evening had fallen peacefully over the little house on Tol Eressea. The tender strains of evening crickets play across the summer warmed meadows. Fireflies dance in the uplifting air and the sweet songs of lovely hobbit voices filter into the dusky smials. The sunlight fading into the west reaches far into the main hall tunnel and ignites motes of dust that rise on the slowly stirring air. It is far too peaceful and beautiful an evening to be inside… and yet you are.

But you would not wish to be anywhere else.

You lay across his naked body, your arms encircling his waist, your head resting on the creamy soft skin of his hip and you are being lulled into sleep by the sound and motion of his gentle easing breath. He is but an instant from sleep, you can tell, for you have held him as he slept many times before, and in that drowsy, delightful moment, you feel at peace and full of utter joy. Your life could be no better than it is at this moment.

His elegant hand rests on the hip opposite you. Three slim fingers and a thumb… all as relaxed and easy as the rest of him. You are just about to close your eyes and surrender to sleep yourself when a slight movement, so close to your face that it is out of focus, stirs you.

It is his finger. Whether by some half dreamed conscious control or in the realms of blissful sleep, he is slowly stroking the smooth skin just inside his other hip. It is not a deliberate gesture; there is none of purposeful moment in it, merely a response to dream, or perhaps a half remembered tickle that his somnolent mind wants to sooth away. Whatever it is, it fascinates you. Your eyes focus on his slowly moving hand and you follow each sleepy, elegant movement as if it was sweet bread and you were a starving hobbit. Goosebumps run up your spine as you feel yourself drawn to your love’s smooth tipped fingers. Each bone, each tendon, each tiny crease of skin is revealed with crystal clarity. It is as if he were stroking you with those easy careless motions and you can feel the warmth of your desire for him race through your body like lightning. He’s not even awake and he can still thrill you!

Slow stroke after slow stroke you watch, devouring the sight, delighting in the pulse racing hot through your veins, until at last, perhaps satisfied it has accomplished its task, the finger stills and settles gently amid its brethren. You want to cry out… entice it to continue, but such a sound might break the spell of delight he has unconsciously woven. Why did he do that? Was it some half remembered itch? Some reflex only called in those moments between waking and dreaming? Some spark of sinful temptation that he keeps normally under tight control?

Whatever it is, you want more. Carefully and silently you raise your head and lean over his sleeping body to gently kiss the finger. It twitches but he does not stir. He is indeed asleep. You kiss the other fingers next to the culprit and are rewarded by his soft exhalation of breath… for a moment you wait to see if he will stir again, but he falls silent and you know he has gone back to his dreams. You should let him sleep, as he clearly needs it, but your desire, once wakened, is not so easily subdued. You try one last tack to see if you can gently rouse him. The offending finger is resting, looking for all the world an innocent digit, but you know what devilry it is capable of – and you intend to let it know it has met its match in you. You lean down, and with petal soft lips and an eager mouth, you take up that provocative finger.

It feels slender and soft, but strong and wiry, much like the rest of him. You slide gently down the length of it; your tongue stroking the underside so teasingly that there is no way his body could mistake your intent. You are soon rewarded by a confused, sleepy murmur but he has not truly woken. He moans, not sure if what you are doing is real or in his dreams, but from where you lie, across his lower body, sucking gently on his fingertip, you can feel his response. It is rising, pushing against you in the space between your breasts. You cannot suppress the delight you feel at having such power over him, nor the excitement that also rises in you to feel his response. He is so precious to you – so perfect – you ever want to do your utmost to please him. You flick your tongue into the little space between his fingers and he moans again. The sound is more intoxicating than wine.

Now the finger is not enough and you turn his palm over and begin kissing the soft space in the center of it. He at last struggles awake and you hear him gasp.

“What are you DOING?” he asks, his whispering voice touched with sleep, wonder and perhaps a little fear.

“Pleasing you,” you sigh between kisses. “I hope?”

“Mmmm…” His brilliant eyes close again and he frowns a bit, as if contemplating the nature of the universe. “Well,… yes,” he sighs. “You do… but….” And here his frown deepens as if he is confused. “What were you doing earlier? I thought I was dreaming,.. but…” His voice is still sleep muddled but you can hear the sound of wonder in it.

“This…” you reply and plunge his whole finger deep into your mouth. Slowly you pull back, sucking gently as you raise your eyes to his.

He stares at you in thunderstruck amazement. You look back at him with possibly the most sinful expression of wicked delight that you have ever borne in your life. As refined and proper a gentle hobbit as he is, he is still male. Wonder, horrified shock and secret hunger vie for dominance in his expression. You lift your head and as the soft, rounded fingertip reaches the circle of your lips, you pause to dance your tongue artfully around the now trembling tip. The secret hunger wins and blazes forth. You feel him jerk and stiffen beneath you. Frodo’s eyes grow wide and his voice becomes breathy, soft and disbelieving.

“Sweet Eru!” he whispers…


	2. Part Deux

Part Deux

 

Though his body betrays his interest, Frodo shakes his head quickly.

“Oh, my love, you are too,… ‘kind’. But really, I would never expect such…ah…” He flushes red and begins to sit up as if suddenly uncomfortable. Your wicked smile fades into one of tender love and your arms tighten gently around his waist.

“Beloved… I know.” You place a quiet kiss on the point of his hip. He shudders. He is still aroused and very sensitive. “You would never expect or ask, I know… but nothing in my life makes me happier than pleasuring you.” You rub your cheek against the soft skin below his navel. “It is my life’s breath to see you rapt with ecstasy, it thrills me beyond compare to feel you move in me, to feel you quicken, to delight you. You don’t have to expect, my sweet, I _want_ to make you happy.”

He hesitates, obviously considering propriety and wondering at your words. He knows that you all love him but sometimes the depth of your devotion still surprises him. A lifetime of bachelorhood and the sacrifices he has made make it difficult for him to think he deserves what so many sweet ladies freely offer. His brow creases in that way you find so endearing and he strokes your hair with his wounded hand. The finger lingers along your jaw and you lean into it like a cat begging to be stroked. “I have such riches here,” he whispers huskily. “In my life and in those I love. I would never ask for more… I cannot.” He is so torn. His eyes glitter in the fading afternoon light. Passion has darkened them, but he is valiantly fighting his desire. In that moment you see that which you love more than your own life – this hobbit whose strength, will, and nobility called to you from across the sea. He is made more beautiful than you have ever seen him by his struggling denial. Grace and selflessness illuminate him like a light from within. His lean, wiry body is tense and tight in your arms and he is up on his elbows looking down at you from across the smooth expanse of his pale chest. His nipples are dark, hard interruptions and the scars he bears a white violence across that tender landscape. He moves your heart almost to breaking and you are overcome with a sweet swoon. You know how hot his desire is, you can feel it still, cradled enticingly between your hanging breasts, and yet his compassion will not let him ask that which you know he desires. He will not ask, but you know it would drive him to ecstasy, and you also know that in pleasing him your own desires are bountifully fulfilled.

You lay your cheek on his tense belly and gently caress the skin there. He stiffens anew and presses even harder against your breast. His lips have gone softly round and full, flushed red with blood. His cheeks have kept their ashamed hue but he cannot stop his rebellious body from giving a true voice to his yearnings. You rub your chin across the soft line where his downy hair begins and Frodo shakes, letting out a low, breathy groan. He is so full and hard from your attentions already, that you know you dare not touch him yet. He would not last, and you DO want him to last, ...just as long as possible. You rub your moist lips across the ever so soft skin above the down. There, and in the hollow of his hip, it jumps and quivers at your touch. Your head swims with the heat. Oh, what rapture it is to feel him move against you like this. You slip your hands down his back and pull his slim hips to your hungry mouth. How sweet is the skin in this sheltered place, where no sun can darken it and no wind can roughen its texture. You nuzzle its velvety smoothness until his stomach muscles seize and his hips jump forward. You hang on, your head reeling from the feeling of his taut body bucking under your mouth, and devour him hungrily. He groans and arches his back, his creamy throat bared to the dim air. You play his sweet body like a fine instrument.

And you haven’t even _really_ touched him yet….

You are on fire. Heat radiates from your most secret places and you can feel every beat of blood as it throbs through that aching space. You have never felt so sensitive and know that one touch from him would send you far beyond reason. Your head is filled with the scent of him – a deep musk, not unpleasant, but personal, visceral and touched with the sweetness of linden boughs. They are in bloom now and their perfume fills the air and pervades this, his bedchamber. You move with him, scarcely aware of conscious thought but feeling with him the delight he is almost ashamed to enjoy. He has calmed a bit. You have only licked and teased, and it has stirred him into readiness, but you have done nothing more. He relaxes and sighs as your tongue flits in loving circles over the point of his hip and down to the top of his thigh… It is a delightful, tantalizing sensation but it gives him a moment’s peace. His hand finds your hair and he tries to stroke you, but he is still tingling with passion and his movements are clumsy. Realization that you are the reason for his impairment fills you with energy like a fiery draught. You want more. You want to drive him over the edge of lustful madness – to ignite his passion like it has never been before – to make him feel even a small part of the joy he has given you. You slip down a bit more and, suddenly freed from being imprisoned beneath you, he rises erect and eager. His body is trembling under your still encircling hands and you know, if you do not act quickly, his sense of decorum will win out, he will protest and the opportunity will be missed. It is indeed time to act.

You settle comfortably between his legs, your arms still cradling his hips. Your hands lie flat against his back in the sweet curve where his buttocks begin. The firm muscles flex and tighten delightfully under your palms. You rub your cheek against his soft, moist skin and he lets out a groaning sigh. His arms reach out to clutch the coverlet on both sides of the bed, his fine, slender fingers burying themselves in the white fabric.

With no further warning than your cheek’s caress, you begin, though slowly at first. You are unsure of your actions and are feeling your way. It is not as difficult as you thought, though it was easier with the finger. That was slender and lax with sleep… this is… well, anything but. You take more of him. He is awake and fully aware, and at your first tentative explorations he begins to shake. If it is from fear, or pleasure or a struggle to control himself, you cannot tell, but you are glad he is not thrusting into you as he was earlier. Until you work out the logistics, it is best he not make things more difficult, after all. Slowly, you work your way down until you can go no further. He still trembles, but you can feel no other response. You wonder if perhaps you have miscalculated, and that this does not please him as you thought it might, but the moment you move to pull back and at the first touch of your tongue cradling him, his darkly curled head slams back into the bed sheets and he groans loudly. It shakes you both. His fingers clench and his back curves into your hands. He is utterly yours and you thrill to feel how responsive he is. You would grin ear to ear with delight if you could. The sudden ludicrous realization of _why_ you can’t grin is so hilarious you almost laugh in spite of your position and you quickly have to swallow around him to avoid drooling.

That motion DOES elicit a response. His head snaps up and he stares straight at you, his face frozen in a grimace of pleasure. You are alarmed but excited. Before this you have only seen this look while in the throes of deepest passion, and now you have spurred him to it with only a teasing caress. Experimentally, you suck a little, your tongue moving along him as if he were a honeycomb you were draining. It is too much for Frodo. At that innocent little flutter, his eyes roll back, he drops heavily to the bed and a guttural groaning cry escapes him. You have never heard him so completely aroused and it stirs your blood. He arches his back again and his hips rock forward. It is a surprise, but you hold on and follow his jerking movements. He is trying desperately to control himself, but his hips are making little involuntary thrusts that send your senses reeling again. You can no longer think. His motion seduces you and you move with him, your hungry body responding to his fervor. Everything is a blur of sensation. You feed his mounting passion, responding to him intuitively, giving him exactly the touch that will send him rocketing to culmination. He is wild and untamed and suddenly, out of the mists of your passion, you feel him reach blindly for you. His hands find your forearms and he grasps them painfully. His quivering hips arch up just as you slip down on him again.

“STOP!” His scream is ragged and harsh. You look up, shocked, but have no time to reply. He lifts you off bodily and flings you onto your back beside him. As quick as a hunting minx, he is on you, one hand deftly lifting your back, the other roughly pushing your leg aside. He is brusque and urgent and before you can even form a coherent thought he has plunged himself deep inside you. You gasp in shock and arch into him. You were ready, indeed, aching to feel him inside you, but the violence of his entry is so uncharacteristic you are overwhelmed. He plunges into you again and once more but that is as long as he can last. He explodes inside you with an aching cry and his firm, radiant body trembles with its shuddering release. He is sated and with a deep, sighing breath he falls and folds you into his arms.

It is over. He is still inside you, trembling a little and growing softer. You wrap your arms around his cooling back and hold him tight. This was his time and you revel in his delight, but part of you wishes you could have shared in it more. He has pleased you so many times; you should not begrudge him once that is his alone, but still… You sigh and run your fingers up his back to settle in the warm place beneath his dark chestnut curls.

“Come,” he whispers huskily in your ear. You look into his eyes, now a bright, crystalline blue and inches away from yours, to see the secret delight mirrored there. He looks happy, but preoccupied, almost distracted. “Let’s get cleaned up, shall we?” he says. As abruptly as he entered you, he lifts and is gone. You shiver, feeling suddenly vulnerable. He rolls off the other side of the bed and stands, holding out his hand.

You sit up, slowly, shame flushing your cheeks. He has always lain with you long after the throes of passion have subsided, but now he is up, and seemly eager to get away. Have you erred? Does Frodo now think less of you for what you have done? The warm bubble of your delight and the sweet memories of his dancing hips seem to deflate before your eyes. You feel used and discarded. Have you thrown away all potential for a life of joy simply because you could not resist a scandalous finger? You follow your lord’s outstretched hand, but as soon as you are standing beside him, you wrap your arms self-consciously over your breasts. He cocks an eyebrow at you, concerned.

“Are you alright, beloved?” he asks, real concern in his tone. He drops a sweet but rushed kiss on your lips and you can’t help noticing how soft and warm his own are. You could not bear it if he turned from you now.

“Are….are you happy, my lord? I mean,…” You look down miserably and shuffle your feet. “I don’t know what I mean, my love. Please pay me no mind.” You feel tears building in your eyes and quickly try to blink them away.

Frodo cants his head to look you in the eye – but the expression on his face is not one that you expected. He is grinning, but there is a wicked daring to that expression that you have rarely ever seen on him. He looks remarkably as you must have when you’d first proposed this little adventure. He chuckles and an embarrassed flush colors his cheeks again.

“Happy? Well, I should say…” he pauses looking flustered, but continues. “Yes,” he sighs. “I should say I am.” He smiles to himself and after a moment looks up through dark lashes.

The wicked grin again. He is studying you intently and you wonder at the reason. Finally, he takes your hand and leads you to the bath in the alcove by the fire. “Let’s get cleaned up, my sweet. I have plans for you.” He lifts you into the metal tub and scoops up a generous dipperful of water from the warming basin. You shiver as it cascades down your back.

“Plans?” you ask. You can’t help but notice that his lips are still ruddy and his cheeks are still apple flushed. Steam rises from your body but you do not heed it.

“Yes,” Frodo whispers softly. “You don’t think I would let you get away with that without reprisals, do you?” The wicked grin broadens. “It’s your turn next, my dear…”

:o ...

 

 

 _I think you can take it from here yourselves...  
_

 


End file.
